


The Day She Thanked Peeves

by LittleFics



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:19:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleFics/pseuds/LittleFics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva McGonagall never thought it would come to thanking Peeves...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day She Thanked Peeves

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**The Day She Thanked Peeves**

June 1982

The chandelier was broken; That was clear. Its delicate crystals were scattered around the office- some on the armchairs, some on the floor, and some on the window pane, catching the last bits of sunlight in their prisms- quite prettily, or at least, it would have been.

The actual fixture was halfway leaning on her desk, apparently having sent the very last of the terms’ parchment flying to every corner of the room in every direction imaginable and the portraits were empty, their subjects had fled during the turmoil.

It was a disaster. It was unnecessary. It was Peeves.

Minerva McGonagall’s hands formed into tightly curled fists at her side as white hot anger swelled up in her chest. She knew, of course, that this catastrophe was nothing that a little magic couldn’t fix, but something about this particular prank had struck her in exactly the wrong way. Peeves had never gone as far as to tamper with her personal belongings and she certainly wasn’t going to give him the idea that it was, at all, acceptable.

_“Peeves!”_ she bellowed.

The rage in her voice could have shaken the walls. It was comprised of a special form of fury that she reserved herself to use only when the students had returned home for their holiday and couldn’t snigger about it later in their dormitories.

At this establishment of annoyance, there was a small, equally delighted and frightened shriek that came from around the corner, setting Minerva on her horse. She turned on her heel and with a practiced, elegant authority, lifted the hem of her skirt.

“Minzy, Minzy, in quite a frenzy.” Peeves taunted from ahead. “Munny, Munny, on the runny.”

Minerva cringed at Peeves’ lack of creativity; That was really quite obnoxious in itself. She couldn’t see him, but allowed herself to be led forward by the sound of bells jingling which always accompanied the poltergeist. They flew through the empty corridors and up four flights of stairs.

It was only then did she come to a sudden stop.

The mirror froze her, right there on the edge of the fourth floor, for the woman standing on the other side of the glass was not somebody she recognized. The stranger’s chest was heaving violently, her hair was spiraling out of its tight bun and she was pale- so pale, almost as if she had been denied sunlight for years. The most striking of features, however, were her eyes. They were alight with something she did not understand, some violent madness that simply could not all be a result from one silly prank.

They were haunting.

Minerva bit her lip. Her appearance was truly startling and just as suddenly, she began to wonder how she hadn’t recognized the change before then- when had she turned into this haggard, furious, _pathetic_ , old woman?

She sighed. So much time had passed her by already, so much rage had coursed through veins for so long. The war was over. Yes, it had changed her- in more ways than she thought- but it was done; It was time to stop being angry.

And just as that resignation crossed her mind, the sound of frantic bells jingling tore her away from her thoughts. Before she had time to realize what was happening, Peeves had burst through the mirror, sending shards of phantom glass soaring. He wore a look of pure terror etched on his squashed little face. The Bloody Baron was following him, shouting some very indecent language indeed. The two ghosts didn’t pay a lick of attention to Minerva and it was just as well, because she had become transfixed with mirror again before they had even passed her by.

For the quick moment between when the glass had been thrown and her shock, she thought she had seen a dark tunnel instead of a wall behind it. Of course, now the mirror stood solid, and only the old woman was staring back at her. Her brow furrowed, Minerva took a step forward and, with hesitant flick of her wand, sent the mirror sliding sideways.

Much to her astonishment, there was no stone behind it, only a dark hole. For a moment she considered running to Dumbledore, but a funny feeling of childlike curiosity was wrapping itself around her heart, and, at any rate, the old man probably already knew about it. Testing the extent of her courage, Minerva took a few long strides into the darkness before lighting the tip of her wand. Something on the far wall caught her eye.

“Lumos Maxima.” She commanded and the room filled with light.

Minerva was not usually an emotional woman, but almost instantaneously her eyes welled up with tears, they recognized something before her brain could work out what she was looking at.

In front of her was a wall covered from top to bottom in all sorts of parchment, scribbles, and photographs bringing from her throat a strangled cry, that she silenced by slapping a hand over her mouth.

Large letters on the stone read:

_‘Artistic Property of Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs’_

And then in increasingly smaller lettering came:

_‘Otherwise known as the Marauders’_   
_‘Otherwise known as overly meticulous’_   
_‘Otherwise known as- you’re a prick’_   
_‘Otherwise known as foul mouthed’_   
_‘Otherwise known as out of space’_

Minerva laughed out loud, a watery sort of laugh- the final line was written at the very bottom of the wall.

She inched closer to it, able to identify, without skipping a beat, the handwriting of her four former students. Somehow they had been there.

The first thing placed up on the wall caused a few of those tears to roll out of the corners of her eyes. She swiped at them. It was a photograph dated October 1971 in which four little boys were clinging to each other and smiling up at her in their new Gryffindor uniforms. They were so innocent.

She moved along, finding unrealistic, boyish sketches of herself and other professors and then there were the notes, written from James to Sirius and Sirius to Remus and Remus to Peter and so on about anything and everything. It was like she could hear their voices, like they were there reading them to her.

  _‘Wormtail,_  
 _Slughorn’s got it out for us, mate. Best to be prepared, to be proud, and to take the T like the little soldier you are._  
 _~Prongs’_

_‘Prongs,_   
_Marigold was giving you the eye all Transfiguration. I know an eye when I see one- it happens to me often enough…_   
_~Padfoot’_

_‘Moony,_   
_Ol’ Matey kicked us out before you woke up. She didn’t like that we tried to style your hair with slugwax. Anyway, we hid a few dungbombs under your pillow in case you get bored._   
_~Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs’_

_‘Padfoot,_   
_How friendly is the Giant Squid? I think it’s about time to find out._   
_~Prongs’_

_‘Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs,_   
_McGonagall came up and handed me my assignments for all of next week so it looks like I’m stuck here for a while and Matey says she won’t let you in on account of that poster you tried to send me- for a nurse, she sure hates nudity. Carry on, friends._   
_~Moony’_

_‘Padfoot,_   
_I think Evans got the hint. You should have seen the way she looked at me. The Potter Effect is in full swing. Mission Accomplished._   
_~Prongs’_

Minerva ran her fingertips across the ink of the notes written by James and Peter, thinking how their quills had zipped across that surface, able to clearly see the smudges where the ink hadn’t dried and their hands had brushed it away. It seemed so long ago that they all had walked the hallways and, although she would never admit it, she missed _those_ boys terribly.

It seemed impossible to her that the four of them had ended up the way they had. James and Peter dead, Sirius imprisoned, and Remus left alone in a world that refused to accept him. The Sirius Black on this wall was the truest of friends- she just couldn’t understand how everything had gone so wrong.

Pushing away her ill feelings, Minerva walked further down the wall. She found detailed instructions on how to carry out some of the most elaborate schemes they had pulled, and smiled ruefully, remembering all the times that they had given her hell. She particularly enjoyed one plan titled, _‘Sniping Snivellus’_. Of course it was sort of funny now, how ridiculously upset she had gotten with them.

As she continued, she came across a few pages of poetry written by Sirius. Despite what had happened she found his work and the comments that followed quite amusing. The boys obviously missed the constructive part of criticism.

_‘Roses are red,_   
_violets are blue,_   
_I’m looking at a D in this class,_   
_how about you?’_

_‘Quidditch is fun,_   
_Especially in the sun,_   
_We’ve got the brooms,_   
_The kind that go froom’_

_‘Minnie gets mad_   
_She says we four are bad_   
_I don’t see why_   
_It makes me want to cry’_

_‘Constructive Criticism: Don’t quit your day job. PS: You’re looking at a T.’_   
_‘Constructive Criticism: I cannot believe you actually think this crap is worthy of our wall! This is no longer a safe space.’_   
_‘Constructive Criticism: Half of my brain cells just died. Also, you just disrespected Quidditch, and I’m not okay with that.”_

The longer she walked, the older the boys got in their photographs. They grew tall and strong, but she started to see that behind those smiles, was something like fear. Surrounded by black ribbon was a whole section dedicated to the war. It held cutouts of the ‘Daily Prophet’ containing the names of those lost, of those attacked, and of those killed.

They probably never thought their names would be added to those lists.

And then after many more scribbles and sweet little exchanges, she came to the end of the wall where she found something very powerful and moving.

It started with a photograph dated May 1978, in which four men stood, they way Minerva remembered seeing them last. They each drew a line on the stone from their person going outwards, and under each line read: _‘Before I die I want to:_ ’

_Remus Lupin; ‘Before I die I want feel in control of change’_   
_Peter Pettigrew; ‘Before I die I want to be noticed. I want to be powerful’_   
_James Potter; ‘Before I die I want to marry Lily. That’s all I need.’_   
_Sirius Black; ‘Before I die I want to see peace.’_

The woman stood impossibly still, staring at the most intimate admissions of four boys who would never know such lives. Her heart lurched. She wanted to scream, she wanted to pick something up and throw it, but all she could do was cry. She fell to her knees in front of the photograph and sobbed. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right and here she was crying for the murderer and the murdered just the same.

They loved each other- it was written all across this wall. Seven years of love, preserved in time. Why did it end the way it did?

Minerva thought it strange that as she sat there weeping, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders and peace settle. It felt good to grieve for them like she always had wanted to. It was even more consoling to know that she had seen a part of them that many others had never gotten the chance to. The wall would be her secret now, she owed the boys that at least.

When her eyes had finally run dry, she stood unsteadily and followed the path out of the dark passageway. The sun was drifting dangerously by the horizon and, as she pulled the mirror back over the hole, the the light caught her reflection.

Suddenly, the woman was more recognizable. She did not look as burdened or pathetic even with red, puffy eyes. She seemed, almost, relieved.

And, yes, for some reason, Minerva was relieved- she finally saw that the damage was done and the world could move on.

She would have to thank Peeves.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first attempt at a Fanfiction. The passageway behind the mirror would collapse in 1986, leaving it unreachable to anyone (HarryPotterWiki). I got the idea from a post I saw on Tumblr about how McGonagall would feel about the four boys, two of whom, had recently died. I tried to go into her psyche a little so I hope that was enjoyable. Please leave me some feedback so I can improve my writing and tell me what you think of this very much suffered over, first Fanfic!


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